Ten pages, one stamp card, one diary — the record of your first weekend. Print it, staple it, keep it where the timer lives. (Appendix E, printable edition.)
Hours I can protect weekly: · The monthly number that would make this real: $
The sentence I’m most afraid a neighbor will say:
The Commitment Page: If it is Saturday 9:00 a.m. on (date), then I will start the Problem Radar sweep.
The one person I’m telling today:
Ten candidates (circle the ★ heard-twice items). Job statement under each ★.
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10.
Gut ranking vs. filter ranking — one sentence on where they disagree:
Per conversation: verbatim answers to Q1–Q5 · commitment secured (currency / from whom / their exact words) · color assigned (Green / Yellow / Dead).
Conversation 1:
Conversation 2:
Conversation 3:
Dead-End Diary line for every kill — problem, cause of death, one lesson.
The card, photographed or copied here. The parking lot, numbered. Customer’s reaction to the read-aloud (“yes, that’s it” / “yes, and—”):
Six blocks — planned vs. actual minutes:
The stumble list and the top-3 fixed:
Parking-lot arrivals: · One screenshot of the working happy path. ☐
The six checks, initialed (run the interactive pass): 1☐ 2☐ 3☐ 4☐ 5☐ 6☐
What check 1 answered: · Found-and-fixed log:
The number I said: · The anchor I used:
What their face did in the silence: · The answer:
[payment screenshot, full size]
Hand-drawn neighborhood map, one dot per customer (price + date each).
My ceiling, set in advance: customers.
My ritual slot: (recurring, alarmed) · The five checks, customized:
Monthly one-line P&L: revenue $ / costs $ / hours
Column one — what I earned:
Column two — what the community got back:
Before/after: page 1’s baseline vs. today:
My door (A / B / C / none) and the next if-then: If it is , then I will .
Per entry — what died · when · cause of death, one line · the one thing it taught.
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Share the entries — they’re the most-read genre for a reason. Send one in.
Print at collectible size; this is the artifact readers photograph.